But I've been out past the lights
to where the jagged black begins
I let my heels sink in the sand
and the ocean sucks its teeth
and the cold cuts through my feet
and I'm stretched out on and on and on

Five

When he arrived the following night, Janeway was dressed in snug black calf-length pants and a long, loose teal-coloured shirt. Her feet were bare and her hair was down around her shoulders.

"See?" she said. "No Captain. Just Kathryn. I thought this might help."

It didn't, not even slightly, although he couldn't tell her that. Chakotay knew the moment he saw her that he should bolt straight for the door. He should just get the hell out of this mess he'd made for himself and find something – anything – else to distract him.

But how could he? He couldn't cut these lessons short without an explanation. And with an explanation? Well, he knew exactly what would happen there. She'd punish herself for engaging in 'inappropriate behaviour' with a member of her crew and shut down for good. Chakotay already knew he was the only person she really opened up to. She couldn't afford to lose that.

Deal with it, he told himself, silently. Just deal with it. She needs this. She needs you.

Kathryn, oblivious, stood in the middle of her floor and said, "I've been practicing."

He smiled at her enthusiasm with genuine affection. "Great."

She waved brusquely at his uniform. "Take your jacket off. Let's do this."

Chakotay laughed at the determined edge to her voice. He unzipped his jacket and dropped it over the back of one of her chairs, and then as an afterthought pulled off his grey tank top too, leaving just his grey undershirt. No pips. Not tonight.

"That's the last commanding thing I'm going to say this evening," Janeway added. "I'm following from now on."

Chakotay moved to stand in front of her, a full head and shoulders taller than she was in her bare feet. He hesitated.

"Come on!" she chided, impatient.

"What was that about not being commanding?" he teased, laughing as he gently clasped her hands.

She laughed back at him with her whole being, her head tipped back and her hands in his, and Chakotay realised there and then that he had never felt more deeply for a woman than this.

The second session went much better.

Or at least, it did until they were mid-way through the third full practice of the sequence. Salsa should ideally be a completely spontaneous series of movements, but in this case – given that they were dancing purely for performance and also because Kathryn was a beginner – Chakotay had actually choreographed a short dance for them. Mid-way through, there was a series of quick turns that they had previously performed with a little distance between them, but for some reason this time when they started their proximity had become closer. Habit was setting in, perhaps, or they were just feeling more comfortable with each other. Whatever the reason, when the turns came this time he found Kathryn stepping between his legs, her thigh pressed between his, her hip bumping against his groin as she almost fell against him. His body flushing at the contact, he caught her wrists, lifting her arms up and over his head so that their bodies pressed hard together before he, still with her slim wrists trapped in his hands, spun her away again and pulled her back in against him.

Chakotay realised immediately what he had done – how quickly his control of himself had slipped and become control of her instead. Not to mention how swiftly he had used that control to stretch Kathryn out against him without even thinking.

He let go of her, equilibrium shot, taking a step backwards.

"I think I started off on the wrong foot," she said, slightly out of breath. "Let's go again. I'll get it this time. We're doing so well, Chakotay!"

But it was no good. The gain he'd managed – the looseness of limb that had seen him moving with her naturally – was gone. He was too tense, too aware both of her and himself. After another two halting, stumbling attempts, one of which saw him almost crush one of her bare feet, he suggested that they call it a night.

"I'm sorry," she frowned.

"No, it's not you," he said. "I think I'm tired. It's been a long day. Let's try again tomorrow."

"We've nearly got it, though, don't you think?" said Kathryn. "Which is just as well, with only two evenings of practice to go."

Two evenings, he thought to himself as he nodded. Then the talent show itself. That's three nights in total. OK. I can do that.

"I don't think practicing in my quarters is really helping," she told him, after their briefing the next morning. "So I've booked the holodeck for an hour this evening. We'll have more space."

Chakotay nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Have you thought about what you're going to wear?" Janeway asked. "For the actual performance, I mean?"

"Just black pants and a white dress shirt," he told her. "How about you?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Not sure. I'll have to do some research."

Chakotay's day was so busy that he had little time to think about what this might mean. First there was a dispute between two Ensigns to mediate – a basic personality clash that had been brewing for some time. Elsewhere the two crew involved probably could have simply avoided each other and learned to move on, but in the cramped confines of Voyager it had festered into an issue that had to be dealt with. The first officer had done his best to keep an eye on it, but changing their shift patterns hadn't done the trick, and now the situation had become serious. Then he'd had to endure yet another session with Tuvok – the security chief was developing a new series of battle drills and couldn't seem to understand that Chakotay was happy not to be privy to each and every new step in the vulcan's painstaking process. On top of these additional demands on his time, there was Chakotay's regularly scheduled meeting to approve Neelix's provisional menus for the next month as well as his usual daily duties as first officer.

All of this meant that he was very nearly late for his appointment with Janeway that night. He arrived at holodeck two harassed and a little fatigued, noting from the status of the read-out outside that she had obviously beaten him to it. He walked in to find that she'd programmed the room to display a hall about the same size as one of Voyager's cargo bays. It was a plain space with cream walls interspersed with what seemed to be bulkheads and several windows showing a starscape, as if it were aboard a ship, though one he didn't recognise. The floor was carpeted in plain Starfleet grey.

"It's my father's ship," said her voice, behind him. "One of them, anyway, before he was promoted to Admiral. One of my earliest memories of dancing is on a trip my mother and sister and I took to see him once when a rotation brought him close enough to Earth to visit."

Chakotay turned to her with a smile and then stopped dead. Whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat.

Kathryn was not in uniform. She wasn't in the pants and shirt of the previous night, either. This time she had chosen a dress. It was black with short, capped sleeves, made in a simple crossover style that tied to the left of her waist. There was absolutely nothing provocative about the garment. The v of the neckline rested well above her cleavage and the skirt came only an inch or so above her knee, the overlap of the two crossed panels significant enough not to show as a split. It shouldn't have knocked him as far off centre as it did. Compared to what Sandra had worn to dance with him back at that colony, it was positively puritanical. It wasn't as if Chakotay hadn't seen Janeway in dresses before, either. It had been her usual mode of attire on New Earth.

Then, however, she hadn't ever chosen to pair her outfits with sheer black pantyhose and black patent heels. It was a completely appropriate choice for the style of dress she was wearing, but he'd rarely seen quite so much of her legs out of uniform before, and certainly never accentuated as they were now. Kathryn Janeway and lingerie – any lingerie: two concepts Chakotay instantly knew he could not permit to occupy connecting space in his mind. He kept his eyes on her face as she walked toward him. She'd twisted her hair up against her head out of the way, leaving her neck tantalisingly bare. The heels pushed her hips forward, making that roll of her pelvis even more pronounced. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Is this all right?" she asked, indicating her attire. "I know it's not quite authentic. There should probably be a lot less of it, judging by the performance archives I looked at, but I tried to find something a little more appropriate."

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's – fine. As long as you can move easily in it, it's good." He turned away, shrugging off his jacket and yanking off his tank top, a frisson of something like annoyance surfing the edges of his mind. Not that he was irritated with her – or, indeed, with anything in particular. He was just tired and stressed. It had been another long day and truth be told, he could do without another evening of keeping himself in rein. Right now, a boxing ring would have been a more appropriate use of this space, because he could really do with being able to throw a good hard punch at-

He checked himself, aware that this was a distinctly bad mood with which to start the evening. Kathryn had obviously sensed his ire, too.

"Are you all right?"

Chakotay turned, forcing a smile. "Just – difficult day."

"Want to talk about it?" Her expression was open, genuine, and as beautiful as the rest of her.

Just for a second, he let himself feel the pulse of illicit energy she inspired in his gut. "No," he said then. "Let's dance."

[TBC]